


Save the Date

by Glossolalia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Humor, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Hunk/Lance (side), M/M, Memory Loss, Mostly humor, Older Characters, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Voltron, Return to Voltron AU, Wedding Planning, no one dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 07:12:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7835152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glossolalia/pseuds/Glossolalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been six years since the Paladins returned to Earth, and finally, Shiro and Keith have decided to get married.</p><p>That is, if they can save the universe for the second time before their wedding date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save the Date

"Don't make me pick," Keith said, voice on the cusp of threatening.

"But you _like_ sweet things."

"But it's also your wedding."

Shiro weakly laughed. " _But_ I really don't care."

There was a pregnant pause followed by a breathy, exasperated sigh from the baker. He was a stout man with culinary tattoos (see: eggs, whisks and bowls) lining his knuckles and a buzz cut.

"So you don't care."

Two figures, one in a black turtleneck and the other wrapped tight in a Ralph Lauren peacoat, stood side-by-side with their arms crossed over their chests.

Shiro blinked at the cake catalogue and turned to face Keith, his smile hooking a corner of his mouth. "Since when are you this difficult?"

"Since you stopped being my senior officer and became my full-time boyfriend," Keith answered, flat and pointed.

The baker whistled and nervously laughed.

"Fair enough."

Keith flipped to the next page, gazing at the pictures of mockup cakes with their thick layers of fondant that matched the sugary residue in the air. It was giving him a headache, and all he could think about was the lunch Shiro had promised him post-cake picking. They were having Italian downtown. He wanted gnocchi. Keith shut the book with a snap and turned to his fiancé of going on four years. His mouth drifted to the side.

"I thought we said we were going to think about this before the appointment."

"The lab happened," Shiro said.

"We should just go to the courthouse."

"My mother," Shiro said, words haunted by the idea alone. He didn't finish the thought, and Keith didn't have to ask him to. They'd hashed out the topic so many times Keith could've recited the potential conversation like a performance. Shiro cleared his throat and continued in hopes that Keith would forget about the courthouse. "We talked about a space cake."

"Is that too predictable?" Keith asked. He paused and thought. "I still like it."

Shiro slid his arm around Keith's waist and tugged him closer with an exhale. "I told you I liked the idea, but you liked it too much, so it automatically was a bad ide—"

"You can psychoanalyze me while I'm choking on a breadstick," Keith promised and then looked up at the baker.

He was already leaned down, sketching at the speed of light in hopes of keeping the dawdling customers as clients. He'd endured the tasting ("What do you mean you don't like strawberry compote? Shiro, that's been your birthday cake for _three_ years.") and that had nearly ended in a nuclear meltdown, a regular Chernobyl incident in his decade long career.

"Stars," he said quickly and drafted out the three-tier, asymmetrical cake. "How about stars? Stars are in space and then we can use silver and gold..."

The baker continued to rattle on about shapes and design versus the amount of guests. Shiro was the one with the knack for logistics, so Keith let him murmur over the sketch and jot down notes. He grabbed the red sprinkle covered Rice Krispy treat Shiro had bought him and bit into it with a defining crunch. He wanted to get married, but he didn't want to _get married_.

They settled on returning to view preliminary sketches, and Shiro patted Keith's lower back as they exited the bakery and stepped onto the dreary sidewalk. It was March in Chicago, and winter was still clinging onto the Midwest with all its might.

"We have dinner at Hunk and Lance's," Shiro reminded Keith as they wandered against the cutting wind. The lake was relentless that afternoon.

"I forgot," Keith answered honestly.

Shiro kissed Keith's temple. "That's why I'm here."

It was an unspoken truth between them that Keith's memory hadn't been the same since the final battle with the Galra—along with specific motor skills. When Shiro had pulled him from Red after the dust had settled and sun crept toward the horizon, Keith hadn't been breathing, blue. To the day, Shiro wouldn't discuss how he'd managed to resuscitate him. His only response when asked was to kiss Keith and make himself a drink.

Keith had that drink memorized, though.

One-part dry vermouth, one-part rye whiskey, one part Campari; violently shaken until the shaker's metal bent beneath his prosthetic, even though it was meant to be stirred.

"Are we bringing anything?" Keith asked as he searched his brain for the conversation he'd had with Shiro.

"You bought the Barolo Chinato for after dinner," Shiro patiently answered. They walked over the nearest crosswalk, steps in time. "Are you still hungry after that Rice Krispy treat?"

"I woke up thinking about gnocchi and lamb."

Shiro squeezed Keith's hip, and they turned the corner toward the restaurant.

They ate lunch, discussed when they'd meet up to go to the gym together, and whether or not they should try to eat at home more often. Shiro was a terrible cook and depended on green smoothies while Keith was too busy but deft in the kitchen. Sometimes, he made Shiro lunches before Shiro left to teach astrophysics with Hunk at the University of Chicago, but usually, he was too busy clinging to his holographic tablet and designing sport-based aircrafts. He'd been hired to start the prototype for the USA Olympic team, and it'd been consuming him for months. The first payout alone had paid off their house.

"I have one class, then the gym and then…" Shiro paused and checked his phone. His background was Keith half-asleep with their service dog, Rover. "We're going to be maybe ten minutes late to dinner, but Hunk is still cooking when we show up, always…"

"That's fine. We could be twenty minutes late," Keith said, and veiled by the table, ran the inside of his boot along Shiro's thigh. "Preferably forty. I like long showers."

Shiro caught the implication and smiled, but he didn't glance up from his phone. "Forty sounds fine."

It wasn't until Keith returned to his lunch did Shiro flick his stare upward to admire his partner. Only twenty-eight, Keith's prettiness was as present as ever, but it'd been sharpened by a combination of the years and tremendous stress. His hair was long, but only after a lengthy short-cut stint post-Voltron, and perpetually tied back. When he smiled, he tried to cover his mouth with a fist, but it was to hide the scar along his lower lip, inflicted by Zarkon. His expression rested solemn, but he still pouted, still lifted a single brow with every hard emotion.

The only things about Keith that had strikingly changed were his gentler hands, his willingness to listen with patience, but especially, his height.

Shiro didn't have much to say for himself. He'd cut back his bangs, greyed a little more, but overall, felt very much the same.

The biggest change was being referred to as 'Dr. Shirogane.'

Keith covered the bill, even though Shiro had insisted it be his treat, and they kissed one another a little too eager before going separate ways. Too many life and death situations had conditioned them to hold the other hard; be it before they fall asleep or spend a handful of hours apart. Seeing the other walk away induced a soft panic, like a gust of autumn leaves breezing along the tops of shoes, and sometimes, Shiro couldn't believe they'd once been worse about it.

They reconvened one lecture and lab later. The pair spent thirty minutes on the treadmill, spotted one another on the bench, and when they hit the showers together, Shiro fucked Keith so hard Shiro had to press his prosthetic palm to Keith's mouth to muffle his raspy moaning.

" _Harder_ ," Keith pleaded, holding tight to the Shiro's wrist but never removing the hand from his face. He was pressed against the shower wall, toes curled and thighs wrapped around Shiro's solid hips. When Shiro nailed his prostate, Keith blinked through a sudden wave of white and groaned with the kind of satisfied smile Shiro lived for.

Shiro buried his face into Keith's neck and grinned, breath harsh. The smacking of skin echoed off of tile, but he couldn't stop himself from rutting. "I should've just taken you home."

"You're," Keith breathed, and his navel dipped hard. The undignified sound of Shiro thrusting wet and unabashed caused his face to flood with heat, but he still managed a laugh. "You're next."

They were fifty minutes late.

Lance answered the door and noted Keith's damp hair. His following accusatory stare forced Shiro to raise both palms as if he were absolutely clueless.

"I've been done with your saintly façade for too long, Shirogane."

Keith killed his cigarette with his boot and coughed through a laugh. Ever since rank had become a nonissue, Lance had lorded his familiarity over Shiro almost as much as he lorded his ability to grow a beard over Keith. Tall but purely lean muscle, Lance had aged into someone even Keith referred to as handsome. His voice dragged like gravel, and his inability to shave every morning left him perpetually rugged. He drank rum most nights but still ran with his husband every morning, and his job as a pilot instructor helped him pay for his sibling's college tuition.

Still prone to having casual sleepovers with the other Paladins, Shiro and Keith entered the house as if they lived there. Pidge greeted them with a two-handed wave, and they were quick to hug Shiro who ruffled their orange pixie cut until it stood on end.

Pidge was the advisor of Galaxy Garrison's entire existence. Keith had once attempted to make them explain their job, and they'd shrugged and ghosted over it with a 'I do everything.' From curriculum to teaching short terms to being the head connection to the government, they were essentially the face of the government's involvement with anything to do with astronomy.

Keith and Shiro were there for five minutes before Hunk decided to casually grill them.

"How has it been almost ten years, and you're _still_ not married."

Hunk was standing at his gas range, copper sauté pan in hand and spatula in the other. Beside him laid a heaping pile of beady eyed prawns, and in the background, the sleepy hum of Hiatus Kaiyote played over their hanging Bose speakers. Shiro and Keith were seated at the wooden breakfast bar Lance had agonized over installing himself, and Pidge was lingering around the decanter. Lance had been hunting down glasses—the good ones—for five minutes, but he was contemplating red Solo cups and a bag of ice from the convenience store down the street. Had Hunk not cut him a look at the suggestion, then it would've already been done.

Lance found the whiskey glasses and raised one in triumph. Hunk tossed a towel at him and laughed when it successfully caught along his bicep.

"Work," Shiro tried. "We haven't done it because we're both _always_ working."

"Existentialism," Lance answered for Keith who slowly raised both middle fingers in response. Shiro reached over and gently lowered them with a sigh.

"Too much happiness," Hunk added and swung an arm around Lance's shoulders. Lance winked at him.

"The idea of Shiro's health insurance is just _too_ good," Pidge added and finally poured their merlot into a plastic Star Wars cup.

Hunk darted toward them, jerked open a cabinet door and poured the wine into a stemless glass. He grabbed their shoulder and squeezed it as if he'd done them a favor.

He turned back to Shiro and Keith. "I told you two my sister would cater that wedding for next to nothing."

"It's the timing," Keith tried again. "Not the money."

Shiro reached over and soothingly dragged his fingertips along the bumps of Keith's spine. His hand slid back down, and he finally pushed his hand beneath the shirt and dragged his hand up and down with long sweeps. It was an attempt to keep Keith's temperament as even as possible. Lance noticed the gesture and poured him Four Roses over a spherical ice cube. He pointedly didn't add water as what seemed like peace offering, but was actually a buffer for his next words.

"When Zarkon was defeated do you know what _I_ did?" Lance started and the others groaned, not including Hunk. They'd heard the story repeated enough for one lifetime. "I stepped out of Blue as soon as we landed on earth, and the second I saw Hunk, I hit my knee so fast it _burned_."

"Shiro was unconscious," Keith dryly reminded Lance.

"And Keith was missing a leg," Pidge added with a raised glass. "He's _still_ missing a leg."

"Wrong," Hunk interrupted and lifted a finger. "We built him a new one."

"You know what I mean."

"Anyway," Lance said and nudged Hunk. "You two are waiting for nothing but time to pass."

"You'll have ten kids before you're married," Hunk said, but then he thought through that. "Well, maybe not."

Shiro coughed from the pits of his lungs at the word 'kids,' and Keith pushed his drink toward him as a means of comfort. Shiro took the glass, raised it to Hunk and drank deep.

"I'll make you another," Lance said and then inspected the glass he'd been working on for Shiro. He handed the Old Pal to Keith. "Never mind. Take this one."

Shiro wiped his mouth and plopped the glass down. He cleared his throat. "Actually, we're planning our wedding. We met with the cake maker today. Second appointment we've had."

The silence that followed, including Keith's quiet, permeated the kitchen. Only the sizzle of onion and green pepper cut through the stunned wordlessness among the Paladins, and Keith stared at Shiro in disbelief. Normally, Shiro would've discussed breaking that kind of news with him beforehand, but apparently, the idea of children had caused a fuse to short.

"What?" Lance snapped and then looked to Keith who was still looking at Shiro with a threatening squint. He pointed at them. "You mean you've been discussing this long enough to order a cake, but we haven't heard anything about it? What kind of buddies are you two?"'

"Look, we weren't for sure," Shiro started. "But we have a location we've been waiting on for years, and we just thought it was—"

"Years?" Hunk asked, voice lifting toward another octave. "You've been thinking about getting married for _years_? We've been berating you for nothing?"

Keith wasn't sure how to respond to that.

Berating.

"We were going to send out invitations soon. It's hard to decide what to do when your resume says Defender of the Universe," Keith explained and brought the glass to his lips. "We're getting married. You three know before anyone else. Why does it matter?"

"Oh my God," Pidge said after staying quiet for too long. "I'm the only not-married friend. Pretty soon you four are going to be adopting babies. Don't make me babysit. Don't make me be the person you start re-gifting cheese trays to because you hope it'll inspire my domestic life."

"Pidge," Shiro interrupted her panic. "You're twenty-six. You're _fine_. I'd be disappointed if you got married right now. Why do you think Keith and I waited so long?"

" _That's_ why we waited?" Keith shot back.

Shiro groaned and reached for Keith's glass again. His was already empty.

"I'm _so_ old."

Keith jerked the glass back and held it to his chest. "You're thirty-two."

"Don't say it out loud."

Hunk reached, turned down the stove and faced his friends. "Wait a minute. Wait a minute. This isn't right. We need to do this right."

He strode around the kitchen island with heavy footfalls and walked up behind Keith and Shiro. Giving no warning, he suddenly engulfed both men in a bear hug, pressing their heads to both of his cheeks and grinning. Lance reluctantly set down the glass he'd been spending too long pouring, and he jogged behind Shiro. There, he wrapped his arms around them, reaching over Hunk as if reaching for Keith. Pidge stared at the four in vague disgust, but they finally managed a lopsided smile. Pidge set down their wine glass and flung both arms around Keith's side, squishing their cheek against his and smiling. There was a small collection of laughter, and Shiro reached up to pat the side of Lance's head. Keith pressed his nose to the top of Pidge's head.

"Congratulations," Lance said, which was followed by Hunk and Pidge's own congratulatory words. "No one's surprised. Kind of."

"I can't remember the last time we hugged like this," Hunk said with a sniffle.

"Literally last week," Pidge reminded him. "Over you finishing grading those papers."

"Oh. Right."

Keith parted his lips in preparation to remind the others that he needed to breathe, but there was a pause. Keith dropped his hand from Hunk's back and cautiously looked to the side, eyes narrowing in focus. From the living room, he spotted a watery blue glow. It was soft at first, something like a muted television. He'd grown accustomed to the quiet light when Shiro would drift downstairs to sleep on the couch after a nightmare, but this light was growing, becoming brighter with every passing second. He inhaled hard when it engulfed the living room, and Keith scooted back, ducking beneath his friends' holds and skidding to a halt. He'd forgotten what it was like to use that reflex, and it startled. 

"Keith?" Shiro asked, stare hardening as he inclined toward defensive. "What's wrong?"

"The Altean communicator," Pidge whispered, having seen the light directly after Keith. "I—I haven't seen that thing glow in years. To be honest, I thought it was just meant to pacify us. I thought we were fully retired."

"Allura," Shiro whispered and stood with the rest of the Paladins.

Keith righted his back and darted toward the living room. A rush unlike anything he'd felt in years caused his heart to palpitate. He smacked his hand against the living room door frame and swung himself into the freshly polished den that sang back at him like the sun. There he was met by blinding light and the holographic image of Princess Allura, standing in the very regality they'd left her in when leaving the lions behind for the last time.

"Good evening, Paladins," she said, smiling with her hands clasped in front of her. "It's so nice to see you all together. It makes this much easier. How long has it been again? A year? Two?"

Keith stepped forward and Shiro caught his shoulder. In place of Keith, he stepped forward.

"It's been six."

**Author's Note:**

> Leave wedding song ideas in the comments.
> 
> Sustain me.


End file.
